


Such Big Teeth...

by livebynight



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, Emphasis on the blood, F/M, Little Red Riding Hood AU, Werewolf!Ivar, Werewolves, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/pseuds/livebynight
Summary: You set out into the woods on a stormy night, intent to bring aid to a lonely old woman, only to find a hungry wolf is waiting for you...





	Such Big Teeth...

**Author's Note:**

> Hah, sorry for the cheesy description! Too easy to be dramatic here.  
> Please be wary of above warnings involving blood and dubcon.   
> Hope you enjoy!! Xx.

The feeling of dread… something close to terror was unexpected. You had simply prepared to deliver food to the old lady. Your mother was concerned; a storm ravaged through the wood for three days and three nights. The woman was too feeble to forage for herself in such an ordeal, Mother said.

You lit the lantern with a stalk of beeswax, knowing the wick would last longer for your journey. Wind still raged, though the storm had calmed from what it once was. A misty drizzle fell from gloomy clouds, and bright lightning filled distant skies.

“Do not forget this,” Mother insisted, returning with a heavy cloak.

Its color was crimson, so rich that it appeared a depthless pool with no light upon it. The color of blood.

“If you must stay the night – you must. I will send for aid at daybreak if you have not returned.”

“Are there provisions for us both?” You asked. The air outside was thick with humidity; you merely wore a slip beneath the wool cloak, knowing even that that would be sweat through not far into your journey.

“Milk and bread, yes.” Mother intoned. “Blood sausage for morning.”

The basket was thrust into your hand once the cloak was fastened beneath your chin. It was heavier than you anticipated, exacerbating your worry of not making it back home that night – the weight would keep you warm no matter where you slept. 

“Mother, I can’t help feeling – _er_ – helpless,” you fretted by the front door.

“Do not worry, Daughter,” she brushed aside. “It will be an hour’s walk, maybe more if the wood is that torn apart. You know them well, dear.”

For whatever reason, dread was still heavy in your chest. But you listened to your mother, clutched the basket tightly around your elbow and headed into the night.

 

It took nearly half the walk to become accustomed to your once familiar surroundings. You’d known these woods since you were a child. Knew every turn, every bush or tree, and the ways their trunks splintered if they happened to fall… It meant naught in conditions such as these.

The moon to guide you was stifled by heavy cloud. The trees and paths you relied on for guidance were tumbled and slippery, glistening with rainwater and mud. Even your lantern, which usually shown bright, was little help now as you trudged on. You at least hoped Mad Old Betsy had survived amicably… A bat, she was, who grew more and more unpleasant with old age. If she had managed to evacuate, this trek would hardly be worth it.

To make matters worse, a wolf howled in the distance; a noise so piercing – its direction seeming so intangible – that goosebumps rose on your warm skin. Wolves never tarried in these parts… It was only eerier that one should be lurking after such a storm. You decided to sing yourself a lullaby for distraction. Keeping your voice low was easy with the wetland and rumbling thunder nearby.

You went on and on for what seemed like ages. It was impossible to count the time with the beeswax wick; it burned much slower than an average one. But the further you went, the darker the woods only seemed to become with a bone-chilling sense of foreboding.

The howling wolf did not quiet, either. If anything, it felt as if you were approaching its den, striding face first toward a beast that would wrap its fangs around you and snap your neck with no hesitation if given the chance. Perhaps it was even the feared _Boneless One_ …

“ _Dammit_ ,” you cursed yourself. You did not want to think of him. The Legend passed through generations, told over fires to scare most children from wandering into the wood at night… And you were one of them.

To this day, you secretly feared the Wolf known as Ivar, even if there was something that made the tales enchanting.

The Ragnarssons. The famed wolfpack that had hunted once a month on the full moon, tearing children from their homes, only to never be seen again. Ivar the Boneless was notoriously the worst, most vile of them all. The runt of the litter, whose fangs were sharper and bite far stronger than the rest – and with an insatiable appetite … Where the other wolves might’ve took one child, Ivar took whole households.

And there you were, thinking of him, holding your cloak a little tighter to yourself as you eyed the malevolent woods a little more warily.

It was easier to think that perhaps he was desperate. What if the howling you heard was really the sound of his cry? A starved animal abandoned, separated from his pack? What if he had limited resources to simply survive?

Of course, none of this was bound to be true, but only at the thought of it could you bravely carry on. You believed the racing in your heart to be purely from exertion – climbing over broken trees, jumping over vast ditches of deep water – and not because of the fear that hadn’t yet slipped away since you left home.

To think - you had been certain that once the old woman’s house came into view, you’d be filled with comfort and ease…

Instead, the crooked, ancient house appeared only more frightening in such drear and gloom as you approached its clearing. The wooden architecture seemed rotten in the darkness, soft even – like you could press your finger in it and watch it sink like quicksand.

The house was two stories tall and at least a hundred years old, and much to your displeasure, apparently vacant. Not a lit candle or living soul in sight showed through the pitch-black windows.

The dread made sense now, as if your soul knew something horrible happened here. A foul taste grew in the back of your throat while you strongly considered turning back. Rush on home and pretend you had not even made it this far. Return to your Mother for a safe, warm sleep in your own bed. It would be worth the shame.

A series of more persistent what if’s drove you forward. What if she was still alive in there? The Mad Woman. What if she was too weak to even light a wick or hearth? What if she had been alone, drenched in darkness for three whole days with no one to help her?

You’d regret this – you knew. And yet you could not help but grasp your basket tighter, grip your other fist around your cloak as if it bred you strength. With determination to feed this woman, you strode onward, stomping up the creaky stairs and through the door that took a shoulder’s heave to open.

 

The smell inside was not right…

Long enough had you hunted game to know the odor of stale blood.

“Miss Betsy?” You called, reluctantly making your way through the foyer. “Betsy, I have come with food… Are you well?”

There was a resounding silence, disturbed only by the patter of your own feet and the weather outside. You let your lantern guide you; having been there once before – of course, in broad daylight - you knew where to find the hearth to start a fire. Betsy might have been preoccupied, but now you were shivering despite your efforts in getting here.

You jumped at a sudden flash of lightning, illuminating the room for only a moment. The flint shook in your hand, but you swallowed down your instinct to flee, and easily lit the dry, untouched wood. The hearth was alight in a matter of seconds and you sighed in relief. You took the opportunity to warm your hands; loosened the ties of your damp cloak to welcome the steadily growing warmth.

But the relief was quick to vanish when a loud creak sounded on the floor above.

“Betsy?” You called again, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. “Is that you?”

“…Why don’t you come upstairs and find out, little one?”

The unexpected voice made you stand up straight at once. Dread turned into the terror you’d so anticipated… The voice was not that of an old woman… Hardly even sounded human as it echoed clearly through the house.

“I am _hungry_ …” The voice spoke once more; a whining almost, as if pleading for your presence.

For reason beyond normal thought, you picked up your basket and lantern, and followed the soft purr of this creature. It was a most alluring noise… a smooth thickness that felt like Father’s cigars wafting over you. It was hypnotizing – irresistible after your stressful journey.

Blind courage led you to the stairs and each step roared with unease upon your ascent. The wind howled outside; you could hear rain begin to fall heavily from the sky again, and would have cursed the assurance that you would not make it home tonight – if you weren’t so distracted by the voice that lulled you further…

“Where is Betsy? Is she all right?”

“She _was_ ,” the voice sneered… “Come even closer. You will see.”

A chill seized your heart. You could not understand why your feet abided the instruction, when it was clear now that Mad Old Betsy was in no envious condition. But still you climbed, skin prickling as if you were being watched.

“Such big ears you have…” You joked weakly, treading carefully on each rotten step.

“How else would I hear you, pet?” The voice shot back. Again, a soothing croon, somehow easing your nerves as it echoed from Betsy’s bedroom and halfway down the stairs to where you stood.

A soft buzzing filled your head – your own blood rushing through your veins. And though you were not entirely sure why, you climbed the rest of the way. Its voice was like the comforting lullaby you sang on your walk, keeping the beasts of night at bay.

As you made it to the balcony, you could see the flickering of candlelight in the bedroom. How odd. There had been no visible light when you stood outside not moments ago.

You left your lantern at the top of the stairs, to relieve your load but also to leave some semblance of life in the house. It settled on the ground with a solid thud, and that’s when you saw the trail of it… Blood from where you stood, smearing down the floor of the hallway and into the dim bedroom.

Your fingers tingled. Every instinct said to run, yet you could not will your legs to do so. There was the heavy storm outside… a warm fire in the house… an even warmer voice that lead you onward.

It rose again as if sensing your reluctance.

“Closer, pet…” It cooed from the room ahead. “I am still _so_ hungry…”

“I h-have food,” you stammered. Whatever creature spoke to you, its effect was intoxicating. Entirely immersive. You felt a need to help it. To sate it. Your steps were more cautious this time, avoiding a fall in the slippery mess that positively reeked of copper and salt. “I can – I can feed you.”

Dark laughter filled your senses in an ominous, yet enthralling wave.

“I am certain you can…” the voice said.

You entered the bedroom in a total haze – simply watched yourself, void of all independent thought, in what you knew was quite possibly a life-threatening situation. The single candle was on a nightstand, barely emitting any light. Especially not on the four-poster bed it stood beside… Through the pit of darkness, you could sense something was moving, but couldn’t tell _what_.

Taking another wary step, you nearly tripped and fell; ignored the quiet sniggering from the bed as you inspected the mass beneath you. You toed at it, turning it over, then realized it was the shriveled corpse of Old Betsy.

You let out a piercing scream before you could raise a hand to contain it, desperately clutched your basket as if it would protect you – a shield between you and the brute killer as you pressed yourself against the wall behind you.

“Do not be afraid…” the voice whispered, and you sobbed as your eyes sought its source. Bright orbs stared back at you through the darkness… An icy blue akin to the lightning that struck outside. It was such an unnatural shade, you didn’t even realize they were _eyes_ at first. “She would not have lasted much longer,” it went on, gaze penetrating, and unwavering. “Her final moments were spent providing me sustenance. I am… _grateful_.”

There was sardonic laughter in his tone that made you shiver.

“What big eyes you have…” was all you could say, struck frozen in your spot.

“The better to see _you_ with,” it said, sounding amused. “And what a sight you are…”

“B-but how?” You managed to squeak. Whatever it was, was still clad in darkness, all you could see were its tantalizing eyes. “It’s so -”

“- I do not need light to see, little one.” More chilling laughter; your fists were so tightly gripped onto your basket, your knuckles were bound to be white. “ _Ahh_ …” it crooned. “I have you at a disadvantage.”

You gulped when a large hand reached toward the candle. Its fingers were long and sturdy. Ruddy with dirt and perhaps even the blood that stained the floor. A leather gauntlet was strapped to its wrist.

One by one, it lit the spare candles on the nightstand… And with the growing light you were finally able to see its – _his_ face… If he were indeed a man… For what sort of human could put you under their spell in this way? You were still glued to your spot; unable to move and… _unwilling_ to move.

A most handsome, pale face he wore… His glowing eyes set beneath a heavy brow ridge. His cheekbones and jaw were so sharply defined, they could have cut through glass. And your eyes lingered much too long on his full, plump lips… It was even harder to fear him now. Perhaps _this_ was the cause for Mad Betsy’s downfall.

“Better?” He asked.

You nodded, drinking him in like mulled wine. His hair was a deep brown, long and thick, and so soft looking. It’d been pleated into braids, but as he lounged on the bed, he pulled them apart and shook them loose, letting it fall just past his shoulders. He seemed to enjoy you staring at him. His eyes never left your face as you continued to ogle, taking in the dark, green tunic, the smooth skin that peeked above its hem.

But a flash of lightning revealed the real monster within – the _wolf_. Pearly, white teeth turned to fangs; claws took the place of his long fingers. His perfect mouth even formed a snarl.

You gasped and turned your head away; clenched your eyes shut.

“Do not be afraid,” he said again, tutting in disappointment.

“Y-you are h-him… aren’t you?” You whispered, slowly turning to face him again. “I-Ivar – Ivar the Boneless.”

Though he was back to looking human, his wide, close-lipped smile was still terrifying. It was all the confirmation you needed. The stories were true. The very Legend sat before you as proof.

With two fingers, he beckoned you forward. And like a rope was wrapped around your waist, you found yourself moving toward him. The pouring rain suddenly sounded like pots and pans hitting the roof. Deafening to your oversensitivity.

“What is that you got there?” Ivar asked, gesturing to your basket as you approached. You almost forgot you were even holding it. “Will you feed me, pet?”

Wordlessly, you handed him the basket. The devious smile lingered on his lips as he took it from you, and unhinged the lid to peek inside.

“You sweet little thing…” he murmured, drawing out the bottle of milk. “You thought you’d come to care for this old woman and you have found _me_ instead…”

You swallowed hard, loud enough for him to hear. His nostrils flared as he smelled your goods with testy sniffs.

“A-are you -” you whimpered again, feeling foolish. “Will you kill m-me, too?”

His sniffing came to an abrupt halt – you feared you had spoken too much – but he seemed more interested in what he’d found in the basket. Hunched over, his long fingers snuck inside and he withdrew the parcel of blood sausages. The brown paper had been nearly soaked through with its juices.

“Perhaps it is _you_ who have lured me here, and not the other way around,” he mused playfully. You smiled despite yourself, but your brows furrowed when he set the sausages back inside. “No… I shan’t be getting rid of something so _sweet_ …”

Fear coiled inside your belly as the basket fell to the floor. Ivar lunged at you faster than you’d ever seen a human move; he seized your arms and you could do naught but shriek as he pulled you onto the bed, rolling until he lay on top of you.

Your lips trembled, words caught in your throat as this massive beast covered your body with his, forcing himself between your legs. You shook as he trailed his nose over your chest, sniffing your scent, groaning in a way that was unnaturally arousing. He tore apart your cloak in the next motion, scrambled to free your arms. Then his slithery tongue lathered his full lips at the sight of you - a feast for a hungry wolf. You might as well have already been naked with nothing but the thin, white slip to cover you. Even your nipples were visible, protruding through the flimsy fabric.

Ivar growled as he settled himself on top of you, buried his face into your neck to smell more of you. You clamped your mouth shut, unsure of what to do. You knew the wolf could easily kill you, but your body was uncontrollably reacting to the feel of him _writhing_ on top of you. Groaning and mewling into your ear like a pup. A throbbing bloomed at the apex of your thighs, and you closed your eyes, wishing to will it away.

He hummed in approval, hot breath raising bumps on your skin. “Do not try to hide it, little one.” You trembled in embarrassment and he merely nuzzled you some more. Deeply inhaled your scent as he traversed over your throat, dragging his wet tongue along the way. “So delectable compared to her…” he sighed in contentment. “If you taste anything like how you smell… I should like to keep you.”

“No!” You shouted, finally able to find your voice – and strength too. Your hands shot up and took hold of his arms, suddenly fearing the worst. “ _Please_.”

With a rumbling chest, Ivar held himself up to look upon you. You felt that same lure as you gazed into his wide eyes, his which still glowed, though his pupils were dilated into large, black pools.

He bared his teeth in a smile; there was a flash of lightning and you watched as his fangs extended, but even when the lightning passed, they remained. How could something so terrible be so beautiful?

“What b-big teeth you have…”

His smile grew wider, more terrifying. “All the better to _taste_ you with, my pet…”

Ivar plunged and you wailed as he sunk his fangs into your neck. The pain was sharp and intense, sent your eyes rolling back. You clenched around his muscular arms for anchorage, hissing when he seemed to gnaw into your flesh.

The heat of fresh blood drenched your skin and Ivar moaned at the taste of it. His fangs retracted, but the sounds of gross suckling filled your ears. He grunted as he laved, crooning at your flavor. It was so evidently delicious, his hips began to rut against yours, over and over like an animal in heat.

And perhaps there was a venom in his bite, for it very quickly began to feel good… The agonizing pain faded into a duller ache. You started to welcome the weight of him, started to rasp at the feel of his mouth and his pleasured little noises. His ruts into your pelvis left you _wanting_.

Ivar could sense your response; his chest rumbled with a possessive growl. He released your neck to pant loudly in your ear. “ _Gods, yes_ ,” he moaned, trailing a hand down your chest. “I am never letting you go…”

For the first time that night, you felt safe. The wolf would not kill you if he meant to keep you.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and keened into his hair. Ivar took one last slurp of your neck before hovering over your face. Blood doused him from nose to chin, dripped on your own cheeks, but he barely gave you the chance to worry on it. He smothered your lips with his, instantly pried them apart and slid his tongue inside. You had never tasted blood like this, by sucking it from a creature’s tongue. He growled into your mouth, kissing you so hard you could scarcely breathe; could only taste the salty copper of your own life source.

His hands raked over you while your lips remained sealed, nails leaving thin trails of white along your skin. He squeezed your breasts and toyed with your nipples, pinching them through your slip. You were just starting to roll with him when he pulled away, looking down at you with a ferocious smile.

“What a precious gift…” he husked, pivoting down your body. “To let me do such things to you.” He raised an index finger to the swell of your breasts; you watched breathlessly as a talon extended. It was so sharp, it sliced finely through your slip as Ivar dragged it all the way down the center. “So _ripe_ ,” he murmured, eyes unblinking on your smooth flesh as the fabric fell apart.

With a snarl, he sucked your breast into his mouth, tongue instantly curling around your nipple. You had never felt something so good and arched into him, gasping as he tugged the hard bead between his teeth. His hair tickled your chest and you buried your fingers through it, gripping tightly as he mouthed at your breast, fondled the other with his palm.

“ _Ivar_ …” you could not help but moan, rubbing your knees against his sides. It was unknown what you were going through, if it was still just some spell – you had never even been touched by a man before - but you wanted nothing else in the world but for Ivar the Boneless to ravage you until the end of days.

With a grunt, there was a sharp pinch around your breast as he sunk his fangs into you again. It hardly hurt this time, was more pleasurable than anything. You gathered his hair in your hands and peered down, witnessed your own blood seep from his lips as he drank you. It was the oddest sensation – watching him hungrily suckle, brows furrowed and eyes clenched shut in euphoria as he continued to thrive off your taste.

Your head suddenly felt light the more blood you saw trickle down the soft skin of your breast. Should you have been worried about how heavy your heartbeat felt in your chest? With a raspy sigh, you went slack on the tattered mattress, still holding onto Ivar as if it were him that was the source of your strength, not the liquid he supped from you.

His mouth retreated with an audible _pop_. “Stay with me, little one… I will not drain you.”

“ _Okay_ …” you murmured, and he was kissing your mouth again in an instant. It was short-lived this time; sloppy with the sound of smacking lips, but rousing all the same. Once you separated, he slid down your body until his torso settled between your thighs. With greedy hands, he tugged at your underthings, and you could hardly resist raising your hips to help him.

“That’s it, pet…” He was all poise sliding them down your legs. But as your thighs parted in front of him, the wolf presented itself again, glowing blue eyes flashing at the sight of your bare cunt. Ivar snarled, chest rumbling with that same possession as he honed in on you like he would prey. That long tongue of his slid from his mouth, eyelashes fluttering as he gave an experimental swipe through your damp slit.

Just the slightest contact had your hips bucking from the bed. You cried out with a strangled whimper, as pathetic sounding as the one he made at the first taste of your blood. One time or another, you may have toyed with your fingers, testing your own privacy… But it was nothing compared to this. Compared to Ivar’s hot tongue, more eager now by your reaction. Back and forth, he dragged his tongue through your lips until it was not enough.

He drove forward, sucking your clit into his mouth with a groan. It was now _you_ writhing on the bed for him, hips gyrating without your bidding, fists clenching into the thin bedlinens beneath you. You might not have been touched by another before, but you were certain a normal man would never feel as good. Only _he_ could make you bleed - douse yourself in your own blood - and still send a most overwhelmingly arousing throb in the pit of your belly. Nothing else would ever make you feel this way again.

“I do not know which taste I like more,” Ivar remarked honestly. “The virgin’s blood or the virgin’s taint.”

His arms wrapped around your waist as he pressed harder against your cunt, nestling his jaw into you, sucking your clit, lathering your lips, and finally fucking you with his tongue. It was so smooth, gliding in and out of you while he continued to croon, voice vibrating at your most sensitive spot until white lights flashed beneath your eyelids.

“ _Yes_ ,” you moaned, the most wanton sound you had ever made. You were so unpracticed, you didn’t even know what you were begging for – just knew you did not want it to stop. “ _Please_ , please, please…”

The rumbling laughter in his chest wasn’t so filled with mocking this time. He merely replaced his tongue with a finger, penetrated your tight hole, intent to satisfy you.

Your knees twitched on either side of him as you cried out, nearly jolting upright from the way your spine curled. He continued to pump his finger inside you, flicking his tongue over your swollen clit. The combination had your jaw clenching shut, a screech squeezing through your grit teeth.

And just as you thought you might burst, Ivar pulled his mouth from you, hiked your thigh over his shoulder and chomped down onto the plumpest part of it. The stinging pain sent you over; you spasmed beneath his hands and shamelessly thrust your hips at his face, gasping and wailing as Ivar sucked blood from the inside of your thigh.

Languidly, the sanguine drink seeped from your flesh, down onto his eager tongue. His breath fanned at you, panting as he coated his lips. It was dizzying now; the blood pumped too quickly. So heavy that Ivar could barely keep up with the stream, sending more of it down his chin and neck than into his mouth.

“I-Ivar,” you stuttered nervously.

“Hush, pet,” he quickly retorted. His mouth closed around his bite. You moaned again, feeling his tongue stroking back and forth over your wound until the pain no longer felt as bad. Perhaps it was his saliva that intoxicated you that could heal you the same – or at least clot the opening. If you weren’t so dizzied and lightheaded, you might have been able to gauge the wound. Instead you were numb to it as Ivar planted one final, chaste kiss on your thigh, and crawled back up the length of you.

“I told you I will not drain you,” he promised. His eyes had softened; he looked upon you now like you were something to be cherished, not simply a meal. Even with the gore, his face was a most comforting sight, so handsome and pleasant, making you swoon as candlelight flickered over his pale skin and made his bright eyes shine. “You are _mine_ , now.”

In a stupor, you managed to nod, then caught the movement of his hand reaching for his breeches. His crotch ground against his palm as he untied them, continued to do so even as he rucked the pants down his thighs and fisted his cock.

“Tell me, little one…” he cooed, lips close enough to brush on yours. Your stomach plummeted as you felt his tip pressing into your entrance, but you could still feel yourself gaping for him, seeking him. “Tell me you are mine.”

He started to press inside you, and after suffering his bites, the pain meant little as you began to stretch around him. “I am yours,” you offered without doubt. “I am yours… Ivar – _Ivar the Boneless_ …”

The noise that came from his chest was more a howl than anything you had heard before, sounding just like the beast you heard on your trek to this old house. With a jut of his hips, he filled you with his cock, sinking inside your cunt with the most satisfying girth.

Your eyes crossed at the feel of him, and he crooned at the feel of you. His face contorted with pleasure, howl turning into soft mewls as he pulled out and thrust back in with bestial strength. With a loud smack, your hips snapped together and rocked you into the bed. You moaned in unison, your voice just as loud as his, your hands now just as _needy_ as his.

You desperately clutched at his waist, practically tearing at his tunic. You were uncertain when this yearning for Ivar had set in, but suddenly you were overtaken with a fiendish hunger for him. He was no longer alone in his need to consume you – you now required to be consumed.

Ivar tore off his tunic to appease you; a soft baying resounded in his throat as you marveled at him, instantly running your hands over his heated skin. You were amazed at it – had never felt skin run so hot in your whole life.

He sharply thrust into you again and you squealed, but the force of it could not keep you from tracing each curve of his torso and back; each muscle as it flexed and pulsated every time he filled you with his cock. His thrusts steadily grew stronger; he was so thick, so intrusive it almost felt too much but you craved it all the more.  Urging him on, you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind him. He groaned approvingly, sunk into you all the deeper.

“You are _perfectly_ mine…” he husked in your ear. His nails raked over your scalp before gripping handfuls of your hair. He slammed into you again and again, his hold tugging harshly until your mouth opened wide and you let out a strangled scream. Ivar seemed to thrive off the sound of it. Snarls tore through his chest as he continued to fuck you harder and harder so the headboard banged into the wall at his rigorous vigor. “Come for me… _again_ , little one…” He said, voice hitching along with his breath. “I want to feel you clench around me… As I _fill you_ with my seed...”

You could hardly fathom his words as he dipped his head to kiss you, claiming your mouth once more. To think on what such words meant? Impossible. You were amid tunnel vision; much else scarcely existed besides Ivar - this wolf on top of you. If you were meant to be his, so be it.

“ _Please_ …” It was his turn to beg, a murmured plea on your lips. He dragged his tongue through the seam of your mouth, trailed kisses to your chin and down the ridge of your jaw. He sought your throat again; the side opposite your fresh wound. The speed of his thrusts did not waver a bit, only increased as he wetly dragged his lips back and forth beneath your ear. Your only warning was a growing grumble within him – the sound grew vicious, echoed the dank bedroom, then muffled as his fangs sank into your throat.

You could not even bear to scream; a thick wave of caustic heat tore through the pit of your belly, trickled into each of your limbs, and you realized it wasn’t just _your_ orgasm that sourced it. Ivar had mostly stilled on top of you, moving only by the course of tremors that shook him as he spilled his seed inside of you. He roared as he sucked down your blood. He was still drinking… Swallowing heavily, desperately… Your strength rapidly faded, and the tunnel quickly closed on your vision. And even as darkness fell upon you, you could still hear him whimpering… Feel breath panting quickly on your neck… Until all that was left were the sounds of his gulps…

 

 

When you woke, it was not much lighter in the room than you recalled… Perhaps a bit more grey instead of black. Your surroundings were unfamiliar; a lumpy bed and four rickety walls. You set your palms down, set to sit up until the pain kicked in…

You hissed a wince, feeling as if your body had been ripped to shreds. And your neck had the worst of it, a dull sting accompanied by the swollenness that you normally associated with illness. Peering down the length of your body did naught to help; you were naked and covered in blood.

In a rush to cover yourself, you only hurt even more, and whimpered at the pain of it all.

“Do not fret, little one. Stay still,” a voice sang. Your eyes followed the source, finding Ivar the Boneless sitting at the edge of the bed, holding your favored basket in his hands.

So, it was not a dream – but not quite a nightmare, either, as you could taste a lingering sweetness on your tongue. It was all real. The famous _Boneless One_ had indeed claimed you as his, and you still could not gather entirely what that meant. Perhaps it was your weakness that kept you so calm…

“There is still time yet for you to heal,” he went on, and somehow you knew he could be trusted. In the growing morning light, his face was more gentle. _Boyish_ even, as boyish as one could be with his true nature, undress, and blood that still caked his cheeks and supple lips. “There is only so much I can do to help,” he said regrettably, and with a small frown. “I have been waiting for you to wake… You must eat.”

You stayed still as he clambered to sit beside you, hardly minded when he gently pawed at you so you were halfway over his belly. You quietly watched him set your basket on the bed before proceeding to pull out the parcel of blood sausages. The paper was completely soaked now… Practically crumbled in Ivar’s hands as he pried it apart. It was silly irony, Mother having selected such a treat.

You flinched when he brought a sausage to your mouth. “It is uncooked, Ivar,” you whined weakly.

“It is better that way,” he protested, petting your hair with his free hand. The touch was soothing, made your eyelids flutter with temptation to close again until he tutted. “You will see.”

Blood already stained his fingers as he gently prodded the meat against your lips. The smell made your nostrils tingle, churned a powerful hunger in your stomach, and you could barely resist the food much longer. Gingerly, you opened your mouth and let Ivar guide the sausage between your lips.

The taste was foul at first; spoilt from sitting out overnight, and bitter with the taste of blood.

But soon enough, you heaved a gracious sigh… You curled into Ivar’s body, contentedly tangled your legs with his. He huffed and keened at your admission; his touch became more affectionate. He brushed your hair from your face and stroked your cheek with his free hand while you eagerly took more bites. You found the taste more and more pleasing as you ate on.

“Good, is it not?” He asked, grinning when you hummed in reply. “There are three more… and I intend for you to finish.”

You nodded obediently, even defied your pain to sit up and accept the next link.

By the time you finished the second, you found the blood sausage most delectable. Insatiable, in fact - seemingly making you hungrier.

When there was nothing left, you sucked Ivar’s fingers clean. He had sprawled across the bed, stretching for you to lay upon him… And you splayed comfortably on his lap, slurping your tongue around his fingers until they were completely void of crimson.

“You are so good, pet…” Ivar praised.

“I want _more_ ,” you found yourself saying.

Ivar’s teeth bared in a most wolfish grin. “There will _be_ more. _Plenty_ more...” He ran his fingers through your hair, a smile playing at his lips as he stared down at you with those hypnotizing, bright, blue eyes. “But you must rest, little one. Tonight is the full moon.”

You pouted, then buried your face into his warm chest. “What does that mean?”

“It means you will be just like me… It means you will _truly_ be mine.” He held you tight against him and draped your forgotten cloak over your haggard form, enveloping you in a nest of heat. "My Little Red Riding Hood..."


End file.
